


The Drums Of The City Rain

by ImpossibleElement



Series: Hesitant Alien Series [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Sad Sherlock, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10654221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpossibleElement/pseuds/ImpossibleElement
Summary: The figure that opened the door didn’t look surprised to see him there at all, yet he looked quite disappointed at the state in which he was.





	The Drums Of The City Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when you and I would make things up?

[ ](https://ibb.co/hFiacm)

###  ** The Drums Of The City Rain **

 

 

He rang the doorbell at approximately 3:23 in the morning. He was certain the person inside would not be asleep. Not that he particularly cared, anyway. He needed everything to stop, and there was only one person now that could help him.

The figure that opened the door didn’t look surprised to see him there at all, yet he looked quite disappointed at the state in which he was. Quickly ushering him in with a mix of worry and exasperation. The detective supposed that was the natural state of his big brother ever since he was brought into the world.

Sherlock staggered inside and collapsed to the awaiting wood of the sitting room. He was ashamed to admit tears where running down his face. Leaving his dilated pupils and traveling downwards, only to bounce on the floor like the _drip-drop_ of the rain. His brother watched him loose his composure and then came close to haul him up, placing his slender frame on the sofa.

“What have you done to yourself, little brother?” He said as he arranged the trembling form of the genius on the couch. Sherlock struggled to rip his Belstaff off his body and Mycroft had to aid him in the divesting of his more stifling clothes; the high already losing its edge enough to let a consuming sense of impending doom to take over him. Wrapping him in desperation, and the _tap-tap_ of the rain sounded so loudly in his headthat it was just making him want to rip his own hair out.

“Where’s the list?” Mycroft asked, and extended his arm so the aforementioned list of things the younger man had taken would be placed in his hand. The paper was deposited just moments after, and the detective could see the astonishment paint his brother’s face at exactly _how much_ was listed. He knew it was wrong, yet with the situation he was currently in, his weak mind felt he had no other choice but to succumb to the bliss of numbness the cocaine provided.

“Can I stay here?” He asked, just as a token request, since he knew that now that he had basically dropped himself in his care, his brother would not let him go until he was certain that he wouldn’t be trying that again; at least for the near future. The older man nodded, and without another word he slipped his hands beneath the other’s form and lifted him from the couch. He carried him to his own bedroom and deposited his brother on the bed. Sherlock remembered all those times when he did the exact same thing after he supposedly fell asleep on the sofa when they were children, and he had to transport him to his bedroom, before their parents noticed they were exchanging knowledge past their bedtimes.

The curly-haired man looked more like a toddler now than he did back then; Mycroft thought, it was probably the level of vulnerability that had never before been present in the other’s frame, not even when he nearly overdosed. The older sibling didn’t really have to ask for the reason why this time was different; why Sherlock had decided that today, of all days, was the time to finally break apart as he had threatened to do all those other times. Mycroft was totally and completely aware that this had been provoked by the sole and only event of one certain army-doctor’s wedding. Yet, for the sake of his baby brother, sometimes he just pretended he didn’t know. Sherlock was also aware of all of this, of course.

The older man sat next to him on the bed, patting his curls. Sherlock shivered and shook, the effects of the _down_ slowly setting in already. “Mycroft?” He whispered, with a small voice barely heard by the other. “Do you want to play pirates?” Sherlock asked, and his brother almost crumbled in sorrow at hearing those words and what they meant. Sherlock was no longer aware of his true surroundings, had somehow reverted to a time when he was happy and carefree. The ginger would do anything to see that happiness in his brother again, on normal circumstances. Right now, it only meant the detective felt wounded and alone, and he could not really do anything to help the situation except from nursing him back to health. The reason why he did this will remain true, and it will continue to hurt him forever.

“Maybe later.” He answered, with a kind smile. He knew when Sherlock was agonising it was best not to provoke him, not to antagonise him or question him in any way. Just letting him come back into his skin on his own.

A few minutes passed, and Mycroft chose to desert all his other obligations in order to fulfil his main one: being there for his baby brother. He stayed there, watching as Sherlock battled against the physical and emotional pain. If the detective weren’t so miserable and incredibly high, the government official would have said something along the lines of _‘caring is not an advantage’_ or _‘I told you not to get attached_ ’ yet he couldn’t bring himself to be that callous. Sherlock loved that ordinary doctor as he had never loved anything or anyone before. If he could, he would’ve stopped ages ago; before it became dangerous, before it even turned into his whole world; but since it wasn’t, he felt it would be needlessly cruel to remind him of the fact.

Several moments later, his baby brother asked something he never thought he would hear. “Myc, can you take me home?” He said, his tone shy and filled with sorrow. The older man knew exactly what Sherlock wanted. He wanted him to make it all go away, to let him return to those times when it didn’t hurt as much; it broke Mycroft’s heart that he couldn’t give him that. The only thing he could do was try to bring him back from the abyss in which he resided, to shoo away all those unfamiliar faces in the crowd and to shelter him from the emotional distress he was currently experiencing. Basically, he could let him sleep on his bed and keep vigil on him until he was ready to face the world on his own, and that’s exactly what he would do.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Brother from Gerard Way.
> 
> Let me know what you think.


End file.
